


Home from the Hill

by delphia2000



Category: Kung Fu: The Legend Continues
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:05:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delphia2000/pseuds/delphia2000





	Home from the Hill

It was a glorious spring day with sunshine pouring down and the birds harmonizing in a late-morning chorus, no doubt in praise of the weatherman. The sky was bluer than kitten eyes and scattered here and there were clouds so puffy and white, it looked like heaven had hung out its wash.

If there were any justice in the world, it should have been raining.

Peter Caine paused at the wrought-iron, gated entrance to suck in the clean air, expelling the smog and exhaust fumes he'd breathed in while traversing the city and let a soft, blossom-scented breeze cool his sweaty brow. Here, in this place, at this time, he'd finally come full circle.

A little over a year ago, he'd entered these same gates and made a decision that affected him profoundly. Closing his eyes, he let the memories wash over him, remembering the overpowering scent of the flowers, the sight of the pained expressions around him and of the look in his father's eyes as he'd begged for support. "I need to go," he'd said and he knew his father, of all those around him who also loved him well, only his father understood.

Now he was back and it still hurt, but certainly in a very different way.

Straightening his back, he shifted his small pack and walked into the cemetery.

They weren't too far in, still gathered around an open grave, over which was suspended a flag-draped, flower-bedecked coffin. Further up the hill, he could see a lone figure in black leaning against a tall tree.

He knew his father felt his presence as well as he could feel his father's, but Kwai Chang Caine never wavered as he chanted his prayers. The first greeting came from the small boy who abandoned his grandmothers' hands to rush headlong down the hill, shouting "Father!"

Little Matthew Paul Caine leapt into his father's arms to hold and kiss his Daddy with all the enthusiasm only the young and uninhibited could express.

Peter Caine twirled his son up into the air, marveling at how much the boy had grown in a year, admiring sturdy limbs and soft, chubby cheeks. His hair was lighter than Peter's had been at this young age. "Pop-pop said you were coming!" he informed his father gleefully.

Peter gave him a stern look. "Does he let you call him that?"

Matthew giggled and Peter breathed in the vinegary scent that was uniquely little boy, enchanted by smooth, little hands that delicately caressed his face as if memorizing with touch. "He says, 'do not call me that!' and taps my cheek, but it doesn't hurt and he smiles when he thinks I'm not looking," Matthew confessed.

"Well, you'd better just call him Grandfather, then, okay?"

"Okay, Pop."

"Now, we should go up and be respectful, right?"

"Yes, Father," Matthew answered, looking a bit chagrined as if he'd realized he'd not been on his best behavior.

Peter carried his boy up the hill to join the family who gathered to bury one of their own. They moved aside enough to let him stand close to his father who was still quietly offering prayers to comfort the living and to ask for a speedy welcome home for the spirit of the dead. Laying both his hands on the edge of the coffin, he enjoined, "Go in peace."

Many in the group offered a quiet "Amen" to add their own plea.

Then Kwai Chang reached to embrace his son and his grandson together. "Welcome home, my son."

"I'm glad to be back, Father. Even if I could wish it were under better circumstances."

"It is well you came now. You are needed."

Caine glanced up the hill at the lone man in black and Peter could feel the anguish that radiated from the man. "I don't know what I can do, Father. I'm not very good at dealing with death myself."

Caine shrugged. "You have grappled with it. Help him to do the same."

Then Caine stepped back to let Annie and Paul greet the boy they'd helped raise.

"It's Daddy," Matthew announced, and then in a whisper, "Nana can't see you. You'd better take her hand so she can feel you're okay."

"Why, is it really your Daddy, Matt?" Annie teased the boy gently, as she hugged her foster son, "I wondered what that strange scent was."

Matthew took a deep sniff. "I think it's probably just that he needs a bath, Nana," he explained.

It made them all laugh, an odd sound for a graveside service but such is life as it circled around, Peter thought to himself, proud that his son was so mindful of his Grandmother's disability.

Paul's embrace was as enthusiastic as Matthew's had been. "Good to see you, son.

It's been too long."

"I'm sorry, Dad. Thanks for taking such good care of Matthew."

"It was a pleasure. You know how I love a good game of hoops. You'll be surprised by your son's skill. He whips my butt regularly."

Paul winked at him as he ruffled Matthew's hair. The boy's grin spoke of his love for his Grandfather.

Annie added, "Besides, we weren't the only ones to watch over him. Caine and Mary Margaret did every bit as much."

"Of course. And with this peanut to take care of, too," Peter acknowledged as he hugged his step-mother and his half-brother.

The baby reached to grab at his face and Peter let him take his nose for a minute. "Ouch," he said nasally, making both his son and his brother laugh before he gently shook the exploring baby hand off.

"He's beautiful, partner," he told the mother.

Mary Margaret smiled through red-rimmed eyes. "He's got that Caine look."

"How are you holding up?" Peter asked gently.

"I'm really going to miss him. We'd become such good friends."

"I know."

It was all he could say; that and hug her one more time.

Captain Strenlich was next to shake his hand and welcome him home. The traditional bagpiper had begun to play 'Amazing Grace' and everyone stopped to listen. When the pipes faded away, Peter took a minute to say hello to old friends TJ, Chin and Broderick. "It's a sad day, Peter," Chin said. "He's going to be missed."

"But not his coffee," Broderick put in and they all grinned.

"We're meeting at Delancy's tonight. Eight o'clock, if you can make it," TJ invited. "Just to swap a few tales and raise a glass or two."

"He'd like that. I'll be there with Paul," Peter promised as he turned to greet a few of the other members of the 101st who had turned out.

"You look good," Jordan told him, taking his hand before she pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.

"You do too."

She looked a bit embarrassed. "I look like a baby whale."

"You look beautiful and you know it. Soon?"

"Due date is in two weeks."

"Where's...."

"Randy had to work. He wanted to be here but you know how it is when you're undercover. Can't always take off when you want to. I'd love to have you meet him. He's a good guy."

Peter smiled. "I know he'd have to be if he could get you to finally say 'I do.'"

He shook hands with Mayor Kincaid next and then sent little Matthew running back to his grandparents before he went to speak with the Police Commissioner. She stood back, staring at the figure up the hill. "This is killing him," she murmured as Peter took her hand and pulled her into a hug.

"I know, Karen."

"Help him, Peter," she begged, blue eyes moist with sorrow.

"You could probably do that better than I could," he suggested.

Simms shook her head. "Maybe, at one time, but not any more."

"Things not well between you?"

"I'm not sure they ever were. He's always run hot or cold, depending on what was going on with his life. Every time he withdrew, I knew it was because he was going to do something dangerous and he didn't want any of it to fallout on me. This last time was just too much. We had words, Peter. Hard words. It had a very final curtain and I don't think there's going to be an encore. I have to admit, I welcomed it. I need...to stop feeling this way."

"I understand that feeling very well," Peter agreed. "I'll do what I can; you know that."

She nodded, silent as if words would let too much more out and he hugged her again before she walked down the grassy slope to get into her car. Most of the others had made their way down to the road, ready to disperse. His parents were still graveside and he went to ask his Father to wait with Matthew, sending Annie and Paul home as he promised to visit later. Mary Margaret took their offer of a ride home, handing Peter the keys to her car. "Don't let your father drive," she admonished, "he has his learner's permit, but it's just not a wise thing to do in heavy traffic."

They went to get the baby's car seat as Peter crouched down by his son to put his hand on his shoulder, explaining, "I have something to do. Can you wait here like a good boy with your Grandfather? I promise, I won't be long and I won't be out of your sight."

Matthew nodded. "Grandfather can tell me a story while we wait. He knows lots of stories."

Peter nodded to his father gratefully, and then turned to walk slowly up the hill. Kermit was waiting for him, still leaning against the tree, cane in hand and dark sunglasses firmly in place.

"Home is the sailor, home from the sea..."

"...and the hunter home from the hill, " Peter finished for him. "Hello, Kermit."

White lines of pain were etched in the man's face, along with all the darkness of grief. "Mind if we sit?" Peter asked, knowing full well that Kermit was probably in agony from standing for so long.

The ex-merc's hip had never been the same after the last bullet he'd taken in bringing Paul home. He called the permanent limp he'd been left with a small repayment for a life saved. Nodding, his friend took a hold of the tree to help lever himself down, grunting a bit with the awkward effort. The intimate exposure of the man's handicap was clear evidence that their unspoken brotherhood was still intact.

The both took positions leaning against the tree trunk; Peter facing downhill to watch as his small son sat next to his Grandfather, beside the grave where John Blake was being laid to rest. Kermit chose to look across the hill at the quiet of the park-like cemetery. "After all he'd been through, he goes like this," he finally said bitterly. "They didn't even give him a chance."

"Then it was probably quick and painless," Peter acknowledged.

"Thank God for that."

"Tell me, please? Paul didn't know much when I talked to him the other day."

Kermit sighed gently before beginning. "He was on a wire-tap stake-out. I ordered it. They had some kind of device to trace any digital taps. Found the room we'd taken in the basement and slipped up behind him. Executed him. One shot to the back of the head. He had the headset still on so he probably never heard them coming. I ran into them as they were coming out. Killed one right away, without even knowing what they'd done. Had the other in cuffs and rescued the data disk they'd been sent to get before I went to check on him. Got the one who ordered it, too, with the evidence from the disk. Got every single one of the bastards, but Blake's still dead."

"And it's your fault," Peter filled in.

"It damn well is," Kermit agreed. "Don't sugar-coat it for me, Caine."

"Who? Me? I'm a Shaolin. We're supposed to be dedicated to the truth. I'm certain that's the truth...as you see it."

"As I see it? What is this, semantics now? Word play? Is that the best you can do, Priest? How about a lecture on the great big old circle of life?"

Peter made a snorting sound. "We both know that wouldn't do any good, Kermit."

"Damn straight."

"I'm the last one to lecture you on anything, much less on how to handle death."

Kermit glanced over to him. "That's right. You ran off rather than face it, didn't you?"

"Now who's sugar-coating it?"

Kermit was quiet for a moment, his face averted as if in shame. Then, finally, he turned back to face his friend. "I'm sorry, Peter," he apologized, "that was uncalled for. This is eating me alive and I don't know how to stop it."

"I wish I could give you some exotic herbs or some book of wisdom to help you, Kermit, but they don't exist. I know. I looked for them for myself."

"Where have you been?"

"Everywhere. Nowhere. At first, I just walked. Walked for days on end. Slept in fields or under rocks. Ate or went hungry. Took some odd jobs to eat sometimes. Found myself at the ocean and got work on a boat. Working helped some. I'd be too exhausted at the end of the day to care about much of anything. Got off in Hong Kong. Walked a lot more. China. Tibet. Looked in every monastery I could find for some scroll of ancient wisdom or for some clue that would make it all make sense. Didn't find it. Just found that if I got tired enough, I could stop thinking and sleep without dreaming. Eventually, it stopped killing me and now, it just hurts like hell. I think, with time, it's going to be even better."

"Time. Time heals all wounds. Not a very good prescription, doc."

"It's all I've got. That and one other thing."

"What?"

"Love. The pure love a child; the love of family and friends. It's magic. I abandoned my son for a whole year; a year when he needed me more than ever. My own father didn't even do that to me willingly. But my son greets me with open arms and a full heart. If that isn't a miracle, I don't know what is."

"Good for you, but not very helpful in my case. My son doesn't even know I'm his father," Kermit said.

"You still have family and friends who love you, Kermit. And that includes me. Everyone else misses Blake too. They don't feel as responsible as you do, but they still hurt, still feel their own mortality, still feel guilty. They wonder if they were kind enough to him. Each one has their own moment with him they wish they could take back now, or a moment they wish they could have over. There's a kinship there. We support each other in our pain. All you have to do is reach out and take it."

"Not something I do easily or well, Peter."

"Most people don't. I couldn't either. Take a step in the right direction. TJ says they're getting together at Delancy's tonight at eight o'clock. Come and tell us all the things you know about him that he never told us. He would have done as much for you."

"I suppose."

"He wouldn't have blamed you. Not in a million years; not our Blake. But, even if he did, he would have forgiven you right away. Especially because of all you two have been through together."

Peter got up and dusted off the seat of his pants, then held out a hand in a gesture that said so much more than words ever could. Kermit took the help that was offered; took a hand up, letting Peter take his weight and support him until he could get his cane positioned. Together, they walked slowly down the hill. Kermit went to lay a hand on the coffin and Peter heard soft words being murmured as he went to take his son's hand. "Are we ready to go?" he asked.

Caine stayed seated and Matthew rose, telling him, "We can't go without seeing Mother. I've brought her some flowers."

It hurt as much as Peter knew it would. It was inevitable. If not today, then some other day. Nodding, he agreed, "All right."

Picking up a small nosegay of tiny roses, Matthew tugged, leading his father who took reluctant steps toward the place where he'd started his journey. The headstone was large, divided in two. He'd agreed that being next to her twin was the right place to lay her to rest. Under the name Kira Powell Blakemore was a single word, 'Beloved,' but under Jody Powell Caine was graven 'Beloved Wife and Mother.' Matthew laid the nosegay down beneath his mother's name, plucking one bloom to set on his aunt's side. Peter laid his hand on the stone. "Hi, girls. Miss you both."

The End


End file.
